And so it goes, for so, they say

“And so it goes, for so say we“, said they, of soft words, harsh intent.

“And so it goes, for so say we“, said they, o' what deviants!

They strike with their notes, and crop all advances,

They smite with their silent shrills, piercing glances.

“And so it goes, for so, say we”, bode well, can it, when tis only their prances?

~ of the mystic, mundane, and everything in between | April 20, 2015 | 2200 hours IST

Hold Fast Ye Not

Hold fast, and you realise,
you will smother me;
Let me be, and lo,
you see, I may tread the periphery.

Hold fast, and I am woebegone;
Care for you not, care for none.
If you though will let me fly,
I will forever stand by.

Hold fast, and you render me anon.
Hold fast, and there, I am gone.

It's only words...

Here is a short piece I had put together for a MOOC I have enrolled for. It is called "storytelling for change".

The intent of this was to pick one area of Life, and talk of how it has shaped up over a period of time. The best part was, it was open-ended and therefore, invited various interpretations. This is one of mine:

Words are my calling…ever since childhood they have drawn me.

There I was, an exuberant child learning to speak her first word; soon a standard one student who hung on to every word the class teacher said; several years after, the young girl who would pick up at least two new words per day…and always a child at heart, amazed at the stories that would reveal themselves unto me…be it through my family, friends, strangers, or other things, also people, more silent.

This quest for words, paved way for the insatiable thirst for writing and reading. It did set me on this irreversible and never-ending path of stories, big and small. Writing to me, was cathartic. It helped me connect, with myself, and the world around me. All this kept adding up.

Over the years that I have lived, words have stirred me, in ways both good and bad. Words have played havoc in my head; they have offered Hope, both false, and true; they have kept me going, and made me pursue, a lifetime of experiences. And they still are…by way of collaboration for storytelling…opportunities to contribute to our lesser-fortunate brethren…even self-discoveries, including my journeys within, and without…

Stories are one the many ingredients of our lives. We experience the magic of words, stories, and storytelling, in ways big and small.

I too do, and try to draw from them to shape other walks of my life.

Through this life map (in the form of a mind map), I attempt to capture, the whys and the wherefores of my never-ending and indefatigable love of, as well as, for, words.

Planning to share some such outcomes of this MOOC, esp. post the course, here, on my blog. Welcome your thoughts.

The amazing world of stories

It was another Saturday, yet, full of promises of a bright day ahead.

A story was awaiting its turn to be revealed, to be told to a bunch of 80 enthusiastic and
mischievous children from class 7. On the occassion of International Literacy Day , Pratham
Books aimed to reach out to children across India and the globe, by way of storytelling...in
several languages.

There are a lot of us, and especially our children, who are inclined, yet, oblivious to the world of
books, of education. None of us, however, are oblivious to the amazing world of stories.

One such, called "Paplu Rakshas" (Paplu the Giant), was what I had taken upon myself to share with these bubbling handful. These 80 children, at the very sight of artoicles for activity (chart paper, packets, bags in my hand), began to scream, "teacher, when will you give the chart papers to us? Are there colours for us this time, too?"

After managing to quiet them down, without lowering their eagerness, I explained to them how would we go about the story and activity.  And so began the story of Paplu the Giant...

80 inquisitive, exuberant children listened to me, hanging on to every
word I read to them, aloud. Catching on to every nuance, intonation,
and question. They raised their hands to answer questions, they
shouted out loud to mimic an imaginary Paplu. The story was letting
them be, the narration, setting their imagination free. With child like impatience, they began to predict what-happened-next-situations. They giggled. Their curiosity for the better of them.

Every response from them oozed creativity and their rich imagination egged them on to more. I
had planned for a lot of conversation in between the storytelling. It added to the narration. It
brough them close to the experience. Once the narration was over, they split themselves into
groups.

Restless hands began to look for colours, pencils, erasers. Deft fingers began to etch Paplu's sketch on to the chart papers. The verandah where I was conducting this session was abuzz with excitement and mumbles, in the same breath.

Once sketched, it was Paplu's turn to get dressed in newspaper dresses. Beautiful ideas,
vibrant colours, and witty explanations spread through the air. Each group stepped up to
"present" their creation to the rest of their classmates. With pride in their eyes, joy in their
hearts and smiles upon their lips, they displayed their work. 

Happy faces bowed to thundering claps of their friends, and said their good byes for the day. Here's to their spirit, and to the amazing world of stories.



Team Work



Clothing the Kind Giant



Paplu in Making

The children painted a picture from their mind's eye

Dreams Begin with Books: Of Book 2 and Book 3

I am extremely happy to share with you what became of the other 2 books: Book2 and Book 3.

Ref. for those of you, uninitiated: prev. post

10 rolls of chart paper under my arm, boxes of coloured crayons in my bag, and thoughts in my head, I walked today morning, my way to the local Govt. School- Higher Secondary; the class that would receive me with exuberance that defies all definition, class 7 (a & b). Read 80 children, noisy, mischievous, brimming with zest and willing to spare none with their fast ones!

The first thing that such spirited children do is, surround you, the minute you step into their class; and this lot followed the norm. Imagine 80.Now imagine 80, talkative, vociferous children.

Out came Book 2 and 3, 4, and the story telling session started. While I held 2 in my hand, they held 3 and 4.

As this was a “big” class- in more ways than one, they read it aloud too, and translated for their classmates- Hindi to English.

I told them, we are doing this for a bigger purpose. So after the story telling, they create their own stories. In groups of 8, they draw and write. They narrate theirs to the entire class.

What becomes of their work? They put up an exhibition (on May 18-11^th being a holiday for them). Other classes, and their teachers see their work of art- and hear them narrate their stories.

It does not stop there, I told them. So they will tell it to their youngsters and siblings. Finally these stories make it to their school library.

And then they began- to draw, to think, to write…innocent squabbles over colours, stories, team mates…

We are all like these children, always trying to be heard; hoping we find like-minded people for many such collective works.

A glimpse of the topics (they christened their stories): “friendship”, “the greedy dog”, “the thirsty crow”, “rain”, “the lion and the mouse”, “to cheat is bad”---to name a few. Each story had a moral that they read aloud. And their narration, breathtaking...and soul stirring.

Take a look at their work here

They made their storybooks , Pratham style.

Oh one should have seen and heard them draw, create and tell their stories;

And thus, Book 2 and 3 were put to good use. They have found their way to this school’s primary section library and that of another.

Also, they have served as idea givers for such activities in the respective primary sections.

Book 4 lies with me. What will become of it, will share with you.

The big picture: Once this kicks in, the idea is to visit this school once a month, or via other volunteers, get them to create books for exhibition and /or their library for the primary section. So, they are teaching---and helping their youngsters.

A word on children: They will always mean it when they walk up to you before you be in to leave for the day, and say, “we had great fun, and you will come again, will you not?”

Dreams begin with Books

On a sleepy afternoon, I was running through my Twitter timeline, when I caught sight of something very interesting. A book-in-every-hand initiative by Pratham Books.

As someone who feels fortunate to be introduced to books as a child-and who always saw her parents and most in the family reading, it came to me, almost like second nature- this initaitive had me hooked.

I have taught children from several strata of our society; children who have not had it fair, and so on. So books and children, two creations of the Maker, very dear to me...and "what can I do", it had me thinking.

And as they say, it is not the magnitude, but the very act of having done the deed that matters the most. Each one of us can make a difference, in our own small ways.

So here I was, with four books (cut out from today's edition of Hindustan Times) ...here is what they looked like- after i added a cover to each.

While I have three books with me, here is what the first one (Book 1- for ease of ref.) achieved.
Planning to share what becomes of the other three books. If you have that copy of HT lying somewhere in your house, may be you too want to do something about it.

Book1: Given to my maid. Narrated the story to her. In her late teens, she is a class 4 drop out.

Her reaction: Smiling all through. Responsive to colour names. She speaks Bengali...so we were talking about different names for colours.. example: brown or bhoora (in Hindi) or maatiya (mitti ka rang) //translation: colour of mud-the Earth// ...when it ended she said, "acha hai, bahut acha hai". //translation: nice, very nice//

Big smile flashing upon her face. eyes gleaming.

And said, "ye tou bilkul kitab lag rahi hai" //translation: this looks exactly like a book//. She did ask me why was I getting four copies of the same paper...and said "oh tou aapne isliye liya tha". //translation: oh, so this is why you bought it//

Spreading the joy: She will hand them over to her bua's (father's sister) children. this, after she narates it to the children in her locality--- her cousins go to school and she says she will in turn get them to narrate it to other children in their school, and with whom they play in the park!

I so do Hope, this happens...she said it like she means it.

... of Life's simple joys...

Life's A Poem: 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30

Lot Five, people...
2 more to go for the challenge (will post them to this one later), and then I have to pick the five I will table for the challenge. If you are reading, you may want to vote.

April 25

“Everyone (blank),” replace the blank with a word or phrase, make the new phrase the title of your poem, and then, write your poem. Possible titles could include: “Everyone Thinks I’m Crazy,” “Everyone Knows the World Is Round,” “Everyone Needs to Leave Me Alone,” or whatever it is that everyone is doing (or not doing).

Everyone needs a good laugh

Of chuckles, and giggles

And mischief that wriggles,

Its way out of sober facades;

Of peals, and guffaws,

That know, no pause,

Are Life’s countless Joys, and its rhythms.

May start with a fake, a moment it takes,

To catch on, and spread like Fire wild.

And that rancour runs out,

To see laughter sprout,

Dare not it come near, Life’s mirthful child.

April 26

A casting poem. Casting can take on several meanings, including casting a spell, casting a line (such as in fishing), casting the actors in a play, and I suppose even the act of creating a cast.

Casting a Die

When He casted you, you were hollowed,
And sent.

Upon the Earth, you travel on rent.

Your cast was trashed, you are unique,

So give up pretences, stop being oblique.

That hollow, you will, fill in with your choices back here,

You pick up what you want, or are given, for fear.

It’s never too late, to start walking tall,

There is oft’ one window, to reverse it all.

Kick the non-positive out from your hollow,

Nothing, more than a fickle will, is shallow.

Impressions you choose, will, your journey here, last,

Never give up, for someone thinks your die has been cast.

April 27

A mechanical poem. Either you’re mechanically-inclined, or you’re like me and hit things to make them work after they break (which, by the way, rarely works).

Mechanically Yours

Well, it is,

As you may see,

Without you, I will go free.

It is with you, that they tied me here,

It is with you, and its Fate’s decree;

I see, said his lady love,

And cannot without you pull or shove.

I need you to hold me tight, so that I can slip alright,

I want you, just as you want me O,

Without you, I am lifeless, a line.

“It is when you wind yourself,

Along my rim, I appreciate more of myself.

Together, we balance it so well,

Should we miss, it dispels.

And so said the pulley to the rope,

“Oh Dear, I am forever, mechanically, yours”.

April 28

Write a shadorma. For those new to the shadorma, it’s a fun little 6-line poem that follows this syllable count: 3/5/3/3/7/5.

And he says

Even if he dreads

He does say

For she may

Agree with his words now so he

Tells his mother so

 

April 29

You call me complex, when I uncomplicate

Simple, as simple can be

She untangled their misery

But when it came to her

They failed to be astir

And so they said, she is complex

That she had no reflex

Yet what they failed to see

Is their own apathy

To someone so simple,

As simple can be

April 30

Two for Tuesday

·         Write a finished poem.

·         Write a never finished poem.

A Never Finished Poem

Every morn you pick a line,

And leave a page to read,

For every day, Life holds, a new possibility,

A story or song,

That goes on so long,

Until you your enthusiasm last

It is called Life’s evergreen side,

Hope for some, and keeps you going,

From day to day, and yet another morn,

When you pick a line, to leave a page